


Run and Go

by YoureKillinMeSmalls



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, Slow Burn, Unfair trial, canon noncompliant, they get arrested
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:46:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26519977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YoureKillinMeSmalls/pseuds/YoureKillinMeSmalls
Summary: Within three weeks of uploading, evading law enforcement, and staying out of public as much as possible, a bounty was placed on your heads for anyone with information on your whereabouts. For the second time since you’d met him, Miles looked afraid.‘Give it a week. We’re as good as dead, Park.’Out of spite, fate let you hide for seven more months. Let you think that maybe, just maybe humanity had an ounce of decency, let you believe that store owners and motel employees wouldn’t rat you out. And now, pinned to the floor with a gun pressed to the back of your head, unable to hear your rights being read off to you over the sound of other officers shouting at Miles to get down, to stop resisting, hitting him time and time again despite already being on the ground and unable to move, much less resist, you’re starting to think God has it out for you.
Relationships: Waylon Park/Miles Upshur
Comments: 5
Kudos: 25





	Run and Go

Waylon Park, husband, father of two, formerly employed as a software engineer at The Murkoff Corporation. Missing since September 18th of last year.

Miles Upshur, freelance journalist, self-proclaimed fuck-up extraordinaire, followed an anonymous tip one night and seemingly dropped off the face of the earth. Assumed dead up until seven months ago.

Now two of the most wanted men in the country.

Granted, you’ve probably already made it farther than you ever should have. Probably never should have escaped Mount Massive Asylum. That night, the only night of several weeks that you can remember, it feels distant and yet so close at the same time. A fever dream, one that visits you every time you close your eyes but somehow you can never be positive it was real.

A week had passed by since you’d made it out in that red jeep before there was a knock at your motel room door. You almost didn’t answer it. At times, almost wish you hadn’t. Miles Upshur. An enigma from day one, when he broke your nose and demanded an explanation for the hell he’d been put through. In that same breath, he told you to grab whatever you needed and throw it in the jeep, that you were leaving.

The first thing you learned about Miles was that he was beyond paranoid. Whether that was a result of the asylum or just simply how he was, you couldn’t tell. You spent the next two months with him on the road, never staying in the same area, same state, more than a week at a time. In those two months, you went over the footage together, compared notes, made copies upon copies of the documents you’d taken just in case you managed to lose one of them. You were sat in another crappy motel room watching the news when Miles uploaded it. Within the hour, your story was plastered across every channel you could find.

You thought that would be it. Murkoff was going to go down in flames and, if God had even a shred of mercy, you would be able to see your family again.

The second thing you learned about Miles was that the man was absolutely fearless. Watching the footage never failed to bring you to tears, yet the most reaction you ever saw out of him was a distasteful joke. At times, you struggled to think he was even human. But when your faces flashed across the news and the word fugitives registered in your minds, you watched that façade of his crack. Fear. Neither of you needed to say a word, moving to pack your things with shaking hands as reality settled its weight on your shoulders. It wasn’t over.

And maybe you really had been living off of borrowed time. Corruption ran far too deep for you to escape on your own, anyone with a set of eyes knew what you two looked like, fake names and cash transactions be damned. The knowing looks and double takes said it all. Anyone with a set of eyes also saw the footage though and knew the manhunt was bullshit, saw right through Murkoff. You can’t begin to guess the amount of people that had covered for you.

Within three weeks of uploading, evading law enforcement, and staying out of public as much as possible, a bounty was placed on your heads for anyone with information on your whereabouts. For the second time since you’d met him, Miles looked afraid.

_‘Give it a week. We’re as good as dead, Park.’_

Out of spite, fate let you hide for seven more months. Let you think that maybe, just maybe humanity had an ounce of decency, let you believe that store owners and motel employees wouldn’t rat you out. And now, pinned to the floor with a gun pressed to the back of your head, unable to hear your rights being read off to you over the sound of other officers shouting at Miles to get down, to stop resisting, hitting him time and time again despite already being on the ground and unable to move, much less resist, you’re starting to think God has it out for you.

The shouting continues as the minutes tick by. You hear an electric clicking noise, a grunted cry of pain, and when you crane your neck to look over you can just barely make out Miles’s limp form in the dark.

Your wrists are cuffed behind your back and then the officer next to you is hauling you to your feet and all but dragging you out of the motel room. You catch a glimpse of vehicles labelled S.W.A.T before being pushed into the back of an armored van and you scramble further inside just to get away from the offending hands. An entire S.W.A.T. team sent to retrieve two people at 3 in the morning.

Moments later you see Miles being dragged out by two officers gripping either shoulder while a third reads off his rights loud enough to tell the whole complex, although you doubt any of it actually registers. His face is glistening with blood when they shove him haphazardly into the van and slam the doors shut.

“Miles!” You cry, sliding off the seat and onto the floor of the van. His lip is busted and there’s a gash on his left temple that seems to be the source of most of the blood. Unable to do much else you gently nudge his side with your knee. The only response you get is a quiet grunt as the van rolls into motion. “Mi- Miles are you with me?” You try again. He opens his eyes and makes an attempt to lift his head, only to let it fall back against the metal floor with a light thunk, eyes falling shut once again.

You lean back against the seat and as the minutes tick by you watch his breathing slowly even out. Unconscious. The florescent light above you flickers off, leaving the two of you shrouded in darkness. You figure it won’t hurt to close your own eyes.

It was going to be a long drive back to Colorado.


End file.
